


My Spite and My Tears

by hanville



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Breaking Up & Making Up, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions and Cameos of Kpop Idols, Minor Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin, Sad with a Happy Ending, Theatre Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanville/pseuds/hanville
Summary: Minho hasn’t been prepared for that. Minho hasn’t thought there’s any reason to prepare for that.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106





	My Spite and My Tears

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi !!  
> this fic bloomed from a single prompt i came up with when listening to the vamps' cheap wine (great song!) and somehow i picked it up again a few days ago and changed everything and the only thing left from the original idea is drinking wine in the park.  
> i wrote this instead of doing homework for online classes so i hope my efforts are enough for you to enjoy!  
> plus there's not enough songs for me to make a long playlist but i've got some songs that are pretty cool and they're listed here if you want to give them a listen!! :3 
> 
> what are we ━ virginia to vegas  
> right where you left me ━ taylor swift  
> cheap wine ━ the vamps  
> wildfire ━ taeyeon  
> is your bedroom ceiling bored? ━ sody, cavetown (this is the song jisung is listening to!)

A knock on the hardwood dorm door has Minho frantically flying from the living area right to the hall. He stands for a mere second in front of the mirror hung on the beige wall, runs fingers through his hair and sends his reflection an encouraging wink before yanking the door open to reveal Jisung.

He might be imagining it but Jisung’s eyes light up when they land on Minho. There’s always this glint in them—the same one that has Minho swooning since the very first day—but this feels different. 

Jisung steps into the apartment and just as the door closes behind him, his hands travel to Minho’s waist to keep him in place when he plants a wet kiss right in the middle of his forehead. 

Minho, with his palms pressed against Jisung’s shoulders, against the fabric of his grey hoodie, joins their lips together in a proper kiss. Soft and slow, bittersweet like the three mugs of coffee Jisung must’ve drunk by now. 

It’s Thursday and Minho thinks they both deserve a lazy evening after bearing classes for the entire day. Both his flatmates are out—Changbin making use of the college gym discount, Seungkwan on a study date in the library with a bunch of his friends. That’s why Minho lets Jisung’s hands roam all over his body as they stumble and trip through the apartment without worrying if someone sees. 

Pulling away from Jisung is hard; unbearable, even so Minho dives right back in when they fall onto the couch. One of his hands cups the side of Jisung’s face with the thumb caressing his cheekbone, the other gripping his hip as Jisung straddles him.

Jisung’s skin is soft, it’s delicate and no one can blame Minho for feeling like he canʼt ever get enough. He just wants to touch, and touch, and touch and Jisung likes it when he does so it’s always a win-win arrangement. 

“Hi,” Jisung breathes into Minho’s mouth, heart-shaped Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps. Swollen lips curling up in a smile, he looks the prettiest. 

Minho moves the other one of his hands to Jisung’s hip and squeezes. He’s a little out of breath when he finally says, “Hey.” 

There must be something on his face because Jisung chuckles, glances down, and bites on his lower lip but Minho doesn’t really care. He gets to see him like this—face flushed, hair disheveled, eyes glossy, mind hazed—and nothing else really matters when Jisung is so close. 

“We got dismissed early today so I stopped by the store to get us something sweet,” Minho tells him, finding it funny how Jisung’s eyes immediately get wide.

“You mean ice-cream, right?” he mumbles, more to himself than to Minho and tries to get up just to be held back by Minho’s arms around his waist. While trying to break free, he pleads, “No, no, please let me go. I deserve happiness in my life, don’t I? Please, please.” 

Jisung knows his puppy eyes will work because Minho has a very weak heart and a soft spot for everything Han Jisung but decides to add some pout to multiply the effect and make Minho suffer more. Little bastard. 

Minho sighs, loosening his grip and letting Jisung go. “Bring me the mint choco,” he says, leaning back on the couch. 

Jisung shoots him a disturbed look over his shoulder as he’s skipping to the refrigerator. “You’re fucking disgusting.” 

“Hey! I’m sponsoring today’s happy meal, be grateful.” 

Jisung purses his lips, crouching by the refrigerator to rummage through the contents. He grabs two tubs of ice-cream and two spoons from the drawer and plops back on the couch next to Minho. 

“This shit tastes like toothpaste,” Jisung comments while handing Minho his tub of mint choco. 

Minho cocks his head to the side before opening the lid and scooping the first spoon of ice-cream. “I’m not kissing you ever again.”

The sheer panic in Jisung’s eyes is amusing. He collects himself, turns to Minho with raised eyebrows, and purses his lips to make a kissy face. “Why, baby? You wanna give up this treasure?” 

“I’m just assuming you don’t brush your teeth if you think mint choco tastes like toothpaste. Nasty,” Minho sneers.

Jisung shoves a spoonful of his mango sorbet into his mouth before—in a totally offended tone—saying, “I do brush my teeth at least three times a day and I’ve got that cute My Little Pony toothbrush. You’ve seen it!” 

Minho rolls his eyes back like he’s thinking. “Didn’t you say it was Seungmin’s?” 

“Oh my God, do you ever listen to me?” Jisung’s mouth hangs open and Minho would believe he truly is offended if he didn’t know that Jisung is an actor so convincing he might make you feel like he’s not really acting. “The Twilight Sparkle is mine and Fluttershy is Seungmin’s! I told you about this. I said that he got it for me after coming out because—”

“Bisexual pride,” Minho finishes for him with a smile. “I remember. You said that it reminded him of you when he was shopping.”

Jisung blinks, mouth hanging open and Minho wonders if it’s bad that he remembers. That he remembers this and all the seemingly insignificant stuff Jisung has been telling him for the past three months they’ve been seeing each other. 

Turning to face the TV, Jisung clears his throat. “Can we—Can we put on a movie?” he asks but his voice sounds different than mere seconds before. 

Minho just nods, gut twisting in that uncomfortable way that it always does when he’s unsure. He grabs the remote from the coffee table, ice-cream tub unpleasantly cold against his thigh. 

But Jisung rests his head against Minho’s shoulder when Minho puts on The Maze Runner and the strange atmosphere bursts like a bubble, disappearing. Not even half an hour later they’re already cuddling, sharing their mutual hatred for Teresa in hushed voices. 

Minho adores the way Jisung always gets too invested in whatever they’re binging, the way he huffs and rolls his eyes and laughs with his entire chest. It turns simple movies watching into a wonderful date. 

“Do you want choco milk?” Minho asks after they finish watching, stretching out his arms before standing up and taking the empty ice-cream tubs to toss them into the trash bin. “I got that brand you like last time I went shopping… Hershey’s?” 

He looks back at Jisung from behind the kitchen island and finds him already staring. Jisung blinks excessively and Minho already has a remark about this on the tip of his tongue—how Jisung is always annoyed when Minho winks and blinks at him but does the same—but then something in Jisung’s face shifts and he’s standing up. 

“I think we should end… this,” Jisung says, voice so casual, face blank. “Break up.”

Minho hasn’t been prepared for that. Minho hasn’t thought there’s any reason to prepare for that. 

His mouth hangs open for a long moment and before he can even gather himself, before he can ask why, Jisung’s gaze is back on the floor and he’s walking toward the door. His feet feel like they’re glued to the hardwood floor. Minho can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t grab Jisung’s hand to stop him from leaving.

“What the fuck, Jisung?” Minho calls after him, when he’s already in the hall where Minho can’t see him and the footsteps stop. 

It takes all of his energy to run after him, to take him by the wrist before Jisung steps out the door and disappears. 

Jisung’s back is facing him; Minho doesn’t have to be a genius to see he’s all tense and uptight and it only makes him more worried. His hands start shaking right where they are by his sides and it feels stupid to be this upset. 

“Can you at least look me in the face?” 

Jisung doesn’t turn. “I’m sorry,” he says before yanking the door open by the handle and shutting it so hard it makes Minho flinch. 

He doesn’t understand. He can’t bring himself to understand because just mere seconds ago, everything was fine. It’s an incredibly underwhelming word to use: fine. But Jisung has just been cuddling up to him, they have been eating ice-cream and watching a movie they both like, so it’s been just that—fine. It doesn’t make sense—Jisung breaking up with him doesn’t make any sense. 

Letting out a trembling breath, Minho dallies to his room. His heart is heavy in his chest, crashing against his ribcage like it wants to be set free or chase Jisung all the way to wherever he’s off to. 

Minho doesn’t cry. He puts on sad music and lies in his bed staring at the ceiling for the entire night, thinking, and thinking, and thinking about what the fuck has just happened. His phone dies sometime at three in the morning but he still doesn’t go to sleep. 

It feels like there’s sand underneath his eyelids, eyes dry and unbearably uncomfortable. It’s even worse when he tries to shut them so he keeps them open, focused on the white ceiling of his room. Minho debates whether it’s alright to just get up and get some moisturizing drops but it’s early morning on a Friday and his flatmates need their sleep, too. He can wait a little longer. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep but it’s not like the whole night is a vivid memory, either. Yet, sometime after his room is kissed with the rays of rising sun, someone knocks on his door and, after no reply, decides to step in. 

“Umm—are you up? I wanted to borrow that jacket...” they trail off upon—most likely—seeing Minho sprawled on his sheets.

Minho recognizes Changbin’s voice but doesn’t speak up. Only when his flatmate comes closer to the bed, shoves his face into Minho’s field of view, looming over him, Minho knows for sure that it’s him. He feels funny. Everything around him feels funny.

“What’s up with you? Skipping class?” 

It’s not like Changbin can’t see him. It’s not like Changbin can’t see Minho’s red eyes and it’s not like he doesn’t realize Minho doesn’t usually lie in bed like this without moving or speaking. But Changbin has known him for way longer than Minho can remember; at this point he might be the only person in the world with a diploma in Dealing With Lee Minho so he lets Changbin crawl into the bed with him.

“Mind if I join you? I’ve got labs today… not really feeling like going,” Changbin says but he’s already lying next to him so it’s not like Minho can just kick him out.

(He can and has done so a million times already but today he just doesn’t want to be alone.) 

Minho breathes out a long sigh, moving for the first time in a while just to grab Changbin’s arm and cuddle up to him. It’s only because Changbin is a walking heater and a pillow in one—not because Minho needs someone to hold him. Definitely not. 

“Have you gotten any sleep today?” Changbin asks, voice soft, hand lifted to run fingers through Minho’s hair. 

His throat catches. Minho knows better than to speak, knows that if he opens his mouth, there’s a possibility everything will spill through his gritted teeth so he remains silent. Shaking his head against Changbin’s bicep, Minho feels hopeless. 

Maybe he would be taking the break-up better if Jisung hadn’t basically  _ dumped _ him for no apparent reason, without any explanation. Not even the classic “It’s not you, it’s me”. Three months and, apparently, Minho doesn’t deserve at least that. 

He can’t help but think back to yesterday, can’t help but think of what he could’ve done wrong for Jisung to leave so suddenly. Because it’s been sudden. Minho has just been getting him his favorite chocolate milk and Jisung has somehow decided it’s the best opportunity to leave. 

Minho doesn’t tell Changbin what’s happened but his flatmate still lets him grip his arm like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. Changbin doesn’t leave the bed, either. He sticks by Minho’s side talking about his past days and bitching about classes until the sunset, when Seungkwan rolls into the apartment and yells something about having brought food for them. 

It’s not like Minho feels like getting up but Changbin tells him he needs to eat to be strong because someone needs to win him that bunny plushie when they go to the amusement park on Sunday. 

Right. It’s supposed to be a double date. Minho and Jisung, Changbin and Seungmin. Of course it was Seungmin who fished out a great bargain of an amusement park in a nearby town Minho has never been to. Local amusement park fifth anniversary special: open twenty-four hours, pay for one ticket, get one for free.

Is it even still on the table if they broke up?

Changbin’s face falls when Minho doesn’t laugh. 

“If you don’t get up, I’ll manhandle you right to the table. You think I wouldn’t do that?” he says after a moment, trying so hard to sound cheery and playful. 

Minho thinks it’s the least he can do to repay holding Changbin back home for the entire day.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed (almost falling when his knees wobble) and sends Changbin a slight smile. He doesn’t feel it’s convincing—maybe he’s not even actually smiling—but Changbin lets out a sigh and his expression melts into relief so Minho doesn’t dwell on it. 

Seungkwan might be his favorite person in the world solely because he buys them food more often than necessary. Minho met him during one of his theatre auditions during freshman year. He was the only one to understand Minho’s Kung Fu Panda reference so it’s only natural they became friends. 

(Also, he set Minho up with his very pretty and very adorable friend Junhui last year and even though it didn’t exactly work out between them romantically, they still visit that cat café off campus whenever they’re both free.) 

When they get to the open living area, Seungkwan is sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone with takeout steaming hot on the coffee table. Minho sits cross-legged on the floor across him, fluffy carpet they got on sale last month strangely comforting when he caresses it with his hand. 

Minho’s stomach rumbles at the smell of food. Even though he hasn’t been hungry or, more accurately, the mere thought of eating hasn’t crossed his mind for the past few hours, he shoves the noodles into his mouth and feels good about it. 

Turns out, food can and most likely will make you feel better. Definitely won’t fix everything that’s on your mind but surely can make you forget about your worries for a moment. And it’s exactly what Minho needs—to shut out intrusive thoughts. 

It’s too quiet for their household and Minho can’t shake off the feeling that it’s on him. Reaching out to get some grilled vegetables from the plate, he thinks he can see Changbin and Seungkwan exchanging strange glances he can’t decipher. It might also be just his mind, now making him paranoid for no reason. 

Soon, Minho’s tummy is full with noodles and vegetables, mouth burning of spicy sauce. He offers to do the dishes and throw away the trash; none of his flatmates are really keen on cleaning up after eating so they just shoot him energetic ‘thank you’s. 

Stress-cleaning is his coping mechanism and now Minho supposes anything is better and more productive than lying in bed so it doesn’t end on just washing the plates. He takes care of his room, even grabs the vacuum cleaner from the closet and religiously sticks it into every possible area. 

Minho is in no means a dirty person but with classes and theatre and dating Jisung, sometimes he just comes back home, strips from his clothes, throwing them onto the floor and covers himself from head to toe in his duvet, going straight to sleep. Well, now at least he might have some more time to take care of his surroundings. 

Bittersweet. It’s bittersweet on his tongue and in his mind that Jisung is basically not a part of his life anymore. Basing on Jisung’s reaction, it’s safe to assume their break up is not one of those amicable ones. 

Before they even began dating, they were friends. Of sorts. It was more of seeing each other in the auditorium, laughing together while hiding behind the scenes, going out late at night after rehearsals, running off in the middle of a scene they weren’t a part of to the convenience store for snacks they suddenly craved. It was muttering random lines of the play that weren’t theirs to memorize, dramatically replaying what was happening on the stage, fighting with brooms when they were on cleaning duty. 

Maybe they always have been something more than friends. Even when Jisung was dating other people—dating Mia, Jeno, Soobin, Jisu—bringing them to the rehearsals to sit in boredom in the back of the auditorium just to run off with them when they got dismissed, Minho always felt like him and Jisung were more than friends.

It was and still is a disgusting thought but Minho had never acted on it. If anything, he still greets Jisung’s previous dates like they’re his own friends. Especially Mia, who has taken a liking to his favorite library spot on the second floor and now it’s  _ their _ shared space every Monday before the lunch break. 

Minho had never acted on it but maybe it was Jisung who did. 

It’s a vivid memory in his mind, playing like a film on his eyelids when he shuts them close. He remembers how some sophomores snatched lead roles from them in one of the smaller plays they were preparing through the year. He remembers Jisung being bitter, so bitter about it. If Minho must be honest, Jisung deserved the lead then so—silently—Minho was bitter right with him.

“Bet we could pull off a better kissing scene than these two,” he said during one of the rehearsals when they were eating chips backstage. And Minho had a remark on the tip of his tongue then but when he turned his head to the side, Jisung had already been staring. 

That stupid grin faltered out of nowhere and Minho wasn’t blind—he could see Jisung’s eyes boldly fixed on his lips. Jisung is so shameless—he’s always been shameless. (And maybe it’s exactly one of the things Minho adores about him.) 

Minho thought they were going to kiss right then and there, in the middle of a rehearsal for no reason other than Jisung saying stupid shit like always. But then it was Minho’s turn to go up on stage as Theseus and he could only swallow the disappointment so heavy on his tongue. 

Later, Jisung and him sneaked out to get energy drinks from the vending machine in the basement. The weird tension vanished like it always somehow does with them; they were laughing about Donghyuck ripping his costume pants on the rehearsal earlier that afternoon, sipping on their drinks, still standing by the machine. 

Minho remembers Jisung crashing the empty can with his shoe, throwing it into the trash bin. Remembers doing the same and remembers the moment of silence and the strange tension from before coming back. And then Jisung’s lips were on his, rough but passionate and it was just a kiss in the dirty college basement but to this day it’s Minho’s favorite kiss he’s ever had. 

It didn’t just end with one eager kiss—Minho thinks back to the way he had Jisung pressed up against the wall, hands roaming all over his body, lips swollen to the point all the continuous kissing became painful. He can still feel Jisung’s smile on his mouth, can still hear his laugh, can feel the shivers that ran through his body when Jisung’s cold fingers gripped his sides. 

They got reprimanded after they came back upstairs to the auditorium, having missed their scenes but—sharing a knowing look and hiding the growing smiles—they knew it was worth it. 

It’s not like they started dating right then. It took a lot more kisses stolen in the dressing rooms, on the stage after everyone else was gone, between the convenience store aisles, on the way back to the dorms because Minho always insisted to walk him even though Jisung lived in another building that was far from his own. 

Minho didn’t expect anything from Jisung; he was fine with all the physical affection he received to the point he felt like he was going to burst. He was fine with trespassing in dangerous territory, flying with the adrenaline of spontaneity. Until he wasn’t. 

More than three months ago, he called Jisung in the middle of the night, inside basically melting upon hearing his sleepy voice. Jisung threatened to strangle him for waking him up but when Minho asked to  _ meet him half-way _ , he still showed up. 

It wasn’t a difficult conversation to have—because everything has always been easy with Jisung—but Minho could never grasp what Jisung truly felt for him. Therefore, he was nervous. 

The campus park was eerily quiet when he dared to ask, “What are we?”

Jisung slotted his fingers with Minho’s in a quick motion. He looked straight into his eyes and said, “I want us to be together.” 

No beating around the bush. There it was. The forwardness and shamelessness that Minho adored about him. 

And if Minho had thought before that with Jisung things were just  _ easy _ , everything became even easier after that night. 

But now, as Minho is standing in his room with Jisung’s hoodie that he just picked up from the floor in his hands, he realizes that things were too good to be true, not easy. 

He shoves the hoodie into the depths of his wardrobe, shutting the doors with unnecessary force. Breathing out a long sigh, Minho closes his eyes. They’re still uncomfortably dry but he’ll just take a hot shower and go to sleep and everything will go back to normal when he wakes up. 

Minho’s head shoots up when he hears a knock on his door. “Yeah?” he calls out, voice weak and hoarse. 

Changbin pushes the door open and sticks his head inside. Before speaking up, he sends Minho a shy smile. “Umm… Seungmin just texted to say Jisung isn’t coming with us on Sunday.” 

Minho hates the way his breath catches in his throat at the sole mention of Jisung’s name. He’s been thinking about him for the past years and for the last twenty-four or more hours, Jisung has been on his mind like a constant. Hearing his name now shouldnʼt hurt like it does. 

His mouth moves helplessly, opens and closes with sputters of things that sound like gibberish and don’t make any more sense in his mind. Changbin looks equally puzzled before the sudden realization washes over him like cold rain in the middle of November. 

“Oh, Minho,” he murmurs, letting go of the edge of the door to properly step into the room and elope Minho in a hug. 

Minho doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want ‘I’m sorry’s, doesn’t want to be told everything will be okay. He just wants someone to hold him. 

“He broke up with me,” Minho mumbles into Changbin’s shoulder, embarrassed. 

Changbin knows him too well; he doesn’t comment or take pity on him—just squeezes Minho tighter, takes deep breaths and exhales to remind him to breathe and stays there with him even though there’s probably a million more fun things he could be doing right now. 

Under pretence of bringing Minho a hot mug of his favorite tea later that evening, Changbin slips into the kitchen to call Seungmin. Minho knows it’s him that he’s calling even though he speaks in a hushed tone, trying his hardest to not be heard. 

But Minho is sure the conversation is about him because—when he’s walking to the bathroom to finally take a shower—he makes out Jisung’s name and, even though Changbin doesn’t mention Minho’s name, the look he sends him when he catches the sound of his footsteps speaks volumes. 

It’s not like he minds. It’s not like Changbin or Seungmin mean any harm. It’s not like anyone owes him any explanations. Anger tickles his throat. Minho clutches a clean t-shirt to his chest, marching straight to the bathroom. He heaves out a sigh once he’s inside and shuts the door close. 

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Minho goes to the amusement park with Changbin and Seungmin just because Jisung doesn’t. 

Sunday is exactly how it’s supposed to be—sunny. Minho feels much better just after stepping out of the dorm building. 

“Well, maybe you’d feel better sooner if you opened up the blinds like I told you to,” Changbin nags when he voices it out but there’s no bite to it.

Minho knows he’s trying his best to cheer him up and it works, somehow. Going back to normal works. 

Seungmin pulls up and they immediately jump into the car. Minho climbs into the back seat, greeting Seungmin with a soft “hey”. He pretends to be busy staring through the window when him and Changbin share a chaste greeting kiss. 

The road to the park is calm in a pleasant way. Minho doesn’t know the songs from Seungmin’s playlist that sound through the speakers but both his companions seem to; they both hum and lip sync and break into quiet singing—it’s serene, even. 

Minho leans back against the headrest and closes his eyes, feeling like the tranquil atmosphere might lull him to sleep. At night, he didn’t sleep as much as he would have liked, but during the time he lies awake in his bed Minho manages to rehearse his lines for the play, even though they’re already perfect—he’s known them by heart since the day he auditioned—so heʼs not exactly wasting his time. 

Seungmin’s car pulls to a stop in the parking lot a little over an hour later. As they walk to the kiosk, Minho realizes the two in the price of one bargain won’t work anymore since he’s alone. But before he can say something, Changbin is walking away to a group of people in the queue. Seungmin shoots Minho a smile as they wait for him to come back. He does—after chuckles and hand gestures and lots of talking—but not alone. 

“This is Yeeun! She said she can come in with us so we get the discount,” he says, motioning to the blonde that tagged along with him. 

It’s unnecessary—Minho could pay for his own ticket, but—if Yeeun is already here—there’s no use in making a fuss. 

She engages in a conversation with Changbin while Seungmin is getting their tickets. Minho stands on the side, hands shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket, listening with one ear. He scans their surroundings, fewer people than he expected to see on the other side of the gate, the roller coasters and rides and so many flickering lights. 

Jisung would like it. Jisung would like it much more than Minho will. 

His gaze falls back on Yeeun and Changbin. She narrows her eyes for a moment before opening her mouth in realization. 

“Oh,” she lets out, voice more excited. “You’re  _ Lee _ Minho, right? You were Mercutio in last year’s play, weren’t you?” 

Wow. It’s weird to be recognized—especially outside the campus where there’s little to no chance of people even knowing he goes to SNU. It’s weird to be remembered amongst all the blurry faces.

“Yeah, that’s me.” 

“Jeez, that show was amazing. I think you and that guy who played Romeo were the best, though. I don’t remember his name, though…” she trails off but her mind seems to already be elsewhere, giddy and excited.

So contrary to the sudden rush of blood Minho feels in his ears right now. 

Jisung. Jisung played Romeo and Minho played Mercutio and Jisung joked so many times that Minho should’ve been casted as Juliet instead.

(“You want me to die for you so bad?” Minho asked then, voice playful and Jisung just winked at him with that cheeky smile.

“Did you even read the play? You’re dying for me either way.”)

Yeeun goes back to her conversation with Changbin but Seungmin soon returns with their tickets and Minho is once again left alone with Jisung-shaped thoughts circling through his mind and Jisung-shaped ache pulsating in his chest. 

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

To be fair, both Changbin and Seungmin try their best to not rub it in Minho’s face that he’s just a third-wheel. It’s not their fault that he didn’t invite anyone else to cover for Jisung and definitely not their fault Jisung decided to dump Minho and ditch the hangout.

(If Jisung still wanted to go, Minho wouldn’t—but Jisung would still probably find someone to fill in for him and have fun because that’s just him. Jisung doesn’t seem to look back.)

After a few rounds of bumper cars that Minho honestly enjoyed the most (there’s something relieving about crashing little cars), terrifying drop tower and pendulum rides, hurricane and too many roller coasters to count, him and Seungmin sitting by one of the stalls. Changbin is ordering their food (“Nothing else than fries is edible in these parks,” Seungmin said, grimacing with disgust.) even though Minho insisted he would do that with utmost pleasure (to give the two some privacy to make out at least for a while because Minho knows they really want to but are too respectful to do that in front of him). 

“So,” Seungmin starts, locking his phone to slip it back into his pocket. Minho raises his eyebrows, expecting a follow-up that only comes when they lock eyes. The younger heaves a sigh, shifting. “Changbin said you don’t like that but I need to ask—are you alright?” 

Minho should’ve expected that. Seungmin may pretend all he wants but deep down, they’re the same—he’s caring and Minho feels flattered that Seungmin cares about  _ him _ . 

But Minho can’t bite back the scowl. “Is  _ he _ alright?” 

Seungmin opens his mouth before pressing his lips back together again. It’s the inner debate, the one where there’s a weighing scale in his conscience, so evident and clear even to Minho who doesn’t have the access to his brilliant mind. 

The nod of his head is enough to send Minho spiralling back down into the hole of misery. 

“I mean—he acts like he is,” Seungmin clarifies yet his voice is weak. Uncertain. Unconvincing. “I honestly have no fucking idea why he did it.” 

Yeah, Minho doesn’t either. 

“Then I am alright, too,” he says, trying his best to sound stony though the words leave a bitter taste on his tongue, the one he can’t swallow, can’t get rid of; the one that remains sharp in his mouth like an anchor, a reminder. 

Seungmin looks like he wants to say something else but Changbin slips onto the bench next to him and he settles on sending Minho a smile. It’s the ‘you can talk to me if you want’ smile. Minho has seen it too many times; he hasn’t availed of it not even once. 

It might be good to talk things out with people but this situation is different—Minho doesn’t even know what he could be discussing. It’s been more than three days and he still has an estimated amount of zero ideas about what the hell happened with Jisung. 

So he stays quiet. Munches on his fries, laughs with his friends, kicks Changbin’s shin under the table and high-fives Seungmin because people apparently bond over causing playful misery to their loved ones. 

“You wanna go on Hyperion now?” 

Minho raises his eyebrows. They can’t be serious about going on the biggest ride just after eating. Pointing to his full tummy, he says, “I’ve just had the driest fries in my life and the mere thought of roller coasters makes them go back up my throat. No, thank you.” 

Changbin doesn’t seem convinced. He tries to argue but Seungmin cuts him off. “Let him be. He’s not ten.” 

Minho mouths a ‘thank you’ before rolling his eyes. “I can go win you that bunny plushie now,” he adds and that seems to do the trick—Changbin grabs his boyfriend’s hand before running off, both of them cackling like  _ they _ are ten. 

It does take him a while to find the right stall without the amusement park map but he manages to get there just in time to find it empty of other people. The relieved sigh that escapes his lips makes the employee crack up. 

“Damn, what was that about?” 

Minho shrugs, soft smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “The less people to witness my shitty aim, the better.”

“Wow, most people come here all confident and cocky,” the employee comments. After Minho pays the fee, Jeongin—as the name tag reads—hands him three balls.

“Got no one to impress here.”

Jeongin tilts his head to the side, cheeky grin making way up to his face. “And what about me?” 

Minho lets out an exaggerated scoff. “This one’s for you, babe,” he says—Jeongin cackles at the nickname—before throwing one of the balls. It flies straight over the pyramid of bottles perched up on a plank, missing the target by embarrassingly a lot. 

He almost drops to the ground in shame when Jeongin dares to laugh out loud at his poor attempt. It’s a nice sound to hear, a nice alternative from the screaming he had to endure on all the rides he was dragged to.

Minho waves a dismissive hand before closing one eye and pretending there are serious calculations taking place in his mind. With his tongue between teeth, Minho throws the second ball and this time, it brings three bottles down. 

Minho wiggles his fingers next to his face; smug, like he’s already won ten plushies. There are three bottom row bottles and only one ball. Not to be a pessimist, but Minho doesn’t think he can get them all. 

“You can do it!” Jeongin calls as if he shouldn’t be doing everything to prevent Minho from winning a prize. 

Minho is a petty creature. Maybe if Jeongin laughed at him and told him he wouldn’t win, he’d do it—but the ball only hits two bottles on the left and the other one is still standing. Minho lets out a groan, rolling his eyes. 

A loud crash startles him, making him shift his gaze back to the stall. Jeongin is grinning at him and when Minho looks at the plank, there are no bottles left. 

“These balls are ridiculously small,” Jeongin says, shrugging like cheating in an amusement park game for a customer is nothing. “You’d win it if it wasn’t for that.” 

“They’re small for a reason.” 

Jeongin points finger guns at Minho. “Reason I do not give a fuck about.”

He knows for a fact that Jeongin shouldn’t be cursing at work but it’s not like Minho is a ten year old kid. The sly grin somehow makes him even more amusing and interesting to Minho. Jeongin is nice. Minho wants to keep in touch with him. 

“So, which one do you want?” he points to the plushies hanging inside the stall. Minho squints to find a cute bunny that Changbin would like and points a finger right at the pink plushie. “Of course you want the biggest one.” 

Minho wants to lean over the makeshift counter separating them to smack Jeongin on the shoulder (or strangle him—that seems fitting too) but the boy is already walking away to bring the prize to Minho. 

He hands it over dramatically, bowing to Minho like he’s a king before cringing at himself and retreating. Minho bites back the laugh. 

Just as he’s about to grab the plushie and thank Jeongin for his help, his phone vibrates in the pocket of his jacket. He takes it out, not surprised that it’s Changbin. They’re probably already looking for him. 

**CHANGBIN:** did u get the bunny???

**CHANGBIN:** where are u we’ll come find u 

**CHANGBIN:** in a minute bc seung is throwing up in the bushes lol 

“What’s so funny?” 

Minho looks up to find Jeongin leaning over the counter to peek at his phone. With a mild glare, he scolds, “Brat, no one ever told you before looking into people’s phones is wrong?” 

“No,” Jeongin replies, smiling like an angel. Minho doesn’t have to know him well to suppose he’s using his cute face to take advantage of people’s weak hearts. 

Minho rolls his eyes, dramatic before grabbing the bunny to press it to his cheek and snaps a selfie to send Changbin as a sign of victory. Jeongin sticks a peace sign in front of the camera lens. 

“Do you want a picture with me so bad? You know, I’m an actor. This might be your only chance to brag to people in the future,” Minho teases, pushing the phone farther away to squeeze in Jeongin’s face in the picture, too. 

“Wait, do you by any chance go to SNU? I think I’ve seen you before.” 

Minho turns to the side with a glint in his eyes. “Yep. You’ve probably been to our play or something.” 

“Oh, yeah. My roommate has gotten a few roles so I was kind of… forced to go.” Jeongin grins. “But everything was cool and now I’ve got one more reason to go so… I guess see you sometime.” 

Minho will be happy to see him. 

“Are you gonna post these on Insta?” Jeongin asks, nodding toward Minho’s phone. 

He hasn’t thought about posting these pictures anywhere but, with a single glance on the screen, he can see they turned out nice. 

“Good,” Jeongin adds after seeing him nod. “Tag me. My handle is jeong dot in. I need some of your fame, you little actor boy.” 

Rolling his eyes, Minho takes the plushie by its bunny ears and smacks Jeongin straight in the face. A loud gasp rips through the air behind him and, when he turns, a little kid stands with her mouth hanging open. 

“I want it,” she demands, pointing at the stuffed toy Minho is holding, already pulling her guardian towards the stall. 

Minho’s chest feels light when he bursts into giggles. Jeongin needs to take care of the newcomer customers but he waves his hand in a goodbye while Minho is walking away. He takes out his phone and texts Changbin back to tell them to meet him by the fountain but—before he can even press send—something is slipped onto his head. 

Minho jumps away, hand flying to touch his head but when he turns, it’s just Changbin. 

“Oops, sorry for scaring you,” he says but his voice sounds too cheerful to be apologetic. 

Minho shoots him a glare that softens as Changbin steps closer to raise his hands and fix the headband crooked on his head. 

“You didn’t reply so we waited and Seungmin saw this shit and had me buy it,” he chirps, nodding to show off his obnoxious luminous unicorn horn headband.

Behind his back, Seungmin is shaking his head in disapproval. A green frog eyes headband sits perched up on the crown on his head. 

“It’s kitty ears! They only had Minnie Mouse or something and she’s an annoying bitch so we took these.”

Minho lets out a soft chuckle, caressing the tip of his headband and hoping he doesn’t look like an enormous fool. Maybe it’s okay if he does. 

He shoves the stuffed bunny into Changbin’s arms, watching as his friend grins—too happily for his liking—and hopes his past mistake is already long forgotten.

(During Changbin’s eleventh birthday party, he and a bunch of other middle school friends’ went to the amusement park with the birthday boy—Minho won a bunny plushie and refused to give it to Changbin, no matter how much he threatened to cry. Changbin was a big brat back then and it’s the only reason why Minho didn’t want to give him the damned toy—he didn’t even want it that much himself, but seeing Changbin so riled over it tipped the balance. Minho doesn’t even know how but they became best friends after that.)

“Do you guys want a picture?” he asks, already positioning his phone. He knows his friends won’t miss this chance. 

He’s right. Seungmin gasps, dramatically pressing his palm to the left side of his chest. “ _ You _ want to be seen with us? On something as permanent as pictures?” 

“Not permanent if I delete them,” Minho sing-songs, grinning. “Come here or I’m taking the offer back. I can already feel my arm falling off.” 

Changbin slings an arm around Minho’s shoulder, propping the plushie in front of his chest to fit it in the frame. Seungmin stands on the other side, puckering his lips toward Minho’s cheek.

Minho doesn’t move away. He smiles, and Seungmin even gets him and Changbin to make a kissy face, too and maybe this picture is Minho’s favorite. 

He slips his phone back into his pocket, having taken more pictures than he intended to. They probably fill up half of his storage now—yet, somehow, Minho can’t bring himself to mind. 

They decide to go on the ferris wheel when it gets dark—“It will be more breathtaking then, with all the flickering lights on the night sky,” Seungmin says; Minho had no idea he’s this poetic. 

He insists they take pictures on the merry-go-round, not even batting an eye at Minho and Changbin agreeing it’s very creepy, especially when it’s deserted.

“Crybabies,” Seungmin remarks when they’re already seated on the eerie ponies, rolling his eyes. He promises them slushies for at least pretending they’re having fun. 

“This is bribery and I can’t believe we’re doing this just for a few aesthetics shots for your Insta’,” Minho says, crossing arms over his chest. He looks ridiculous; all displeased and defensive yet still sitting on that pony carousel just because Seungmin told him to.

When his feet touch the ground again, his head spins. It’s short-lasting and goes away when he blinks again but it definitely only convinces Minho further that he’s never going on a merry-go-round ride again. 

He’s very glad when Seungmin hands him a blue overpriced slushie and even more so when they sit on a bench nearby, having an actual moment to rest for the first time since they arrived in the park. Soaking up the setting sun deepens their relaxation; Minho is glowing.

He feels his legs tingling from all the walking; going to an amusement park must be listed as a workout routine somewhere because—seriously—Minho’s entire body hasn’t ached this much in a long time. Burning muscles is a good kind of pain, Minho thinks, and every time his body is on fire, it’s like he’s reborning. 

And it’s something to focus on. Something other than boys with their charming heart-shaped smiles.

Minho sighs, throwing his head back. He didn’t think he’d have this much fun considering the circumstances but—surprisingly—it’s still a very enjoyable evening. He hopes that in a long time, when everything settles back into a steady pace, into a routine more pleasant than the last few days, this Sunday will be the thing he remembers best. 

“We should go check if there’s a queue,” Changbin suggests, already standing up.

Minho doesn’t want to go; he can stay on this goddamn bench for the rest of his life, even. He just doesn’t want to move. 

“Oh, come on!” Seungmin grabs his hand to yank him up when he notices Minho’s grimace. “It’s the ferris wheel!” 

To be fair, seeing the world glimmer from up high is an opportunity Minho doesn’t want to pass. It’s a perfect way to end a pleasant day with his friends. Does he even have a reason to say no?

With an exaggerated groan, he stands up. Seungmin smiles like he’s done all the job convincing him but Minho lets him be—Seungmin is allowed to have some fun, too. 

Slushies might be pure sugar but Minho has zero regrets when he throws the empty cup into the trash bin. His legs burn even more now that he’s actually using them to follow his friends to the ferris wheel, graceful in the centre of the enormous amusement park. 

A bunch of people must’ve come across the same idea of saving the ferris wheel for the last—the queue spreading in front of them and right behind—a cherry on top of some sorts. 

Minho doesn’t mind waiting; his Scorpio placement endowed him with patience. Maybe that’s why he still can’t let go of some things. Maybe he’s still expecting.

“You two can go together if you want,” Seungmin speaks out, motioning to Minho and Changbin. That’s very considerate of him—to give up the chance of a romantic smooch with his boyfriend on top of the ferris wheel just for Minho’s sake. “I’ll take pictures.” 

Changbin’s face twists in an exaggerated grimace. “Do you want him to kick me out of the component at any given chance?” 

“I would do just that,” Minho jokes, masking it with his actor skills—serious voice and expression—and elbows Changbin in the side. “Thanks but I’d rather have a very lovely ride and I can’t do that if he’s by my side. You can have him.” 

Seungmin sucks through his teeth. “Jeez, I thought I’d get rid of him.” He heaves out a sigh, resting hands on both his sides. “Now what?” 

“Ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad,” Changbin sing-songs, pursing his lips to make a kissy face. Minho instinctively rips his gaze away, pretty sure they will actually end up kissing. 

He isn’t jealous—of course he isn’t. But with the dull ache pulsating through his chest as he watches them from the corner of his eye, Minho feels like he’s missing something—someone—and it only intensifies when he realizes who this person is. 

Trying to engage in his friend’s conversation, Minho puts on a pretty convincing smile and laughs about them witnessing cotton candy getting stuck to a kid’s hair while waiting for Minho earlier this afternoon. 

Forget. He just wants to forget. 

Easy to say—Jisung became a constant in his life, always there even when Minho didn’t need him. It’s hard enough to resist thinking about him every three seconds; forgetting him frankly impossible. 

Changbin elbows him in the side. Minho blinks away the haze in his eyes to send his friend a questioning look. 

“You want us to go first, right?”

“Yeah,” Minho rolls his eyes like it’s obvious, “I don’t want to see you two making out in front of me.” 

Seungmin opens his mouth to argue, something about them not engaging in public displays of affections (lies) probably already on the tip of his tongue, but Changbin cuts him off.

He shoves his enormous bunny plushie into Minho’s hands and says, “She’ll keep you company.” 

Minho deadpans. “She just won’t fit into the component with you two.”

Yet, he clutches the toy in his hands, ignoring Changbin’s grin and walks to stand behind them. Only a few more minutes of waiting (Minho can barely feel his legs by then) and he’s already seated in the cramped and uncomfortable component with the stuffed animal taking up more space than him. Changbin turns around from where he’s seated in front of Minho (just for a moment longer) to wave at him like the most annoying person on Earth. (Minho is endeared.)

This is ridiculous.

Minho takes a deep breath as the wheel picks up to let in more people and again, and again and when he’s all the way on the top, world around him dark and scary, illuminated only by flickering lights of the park, with the stupid bunny toy as his only companion, Minho feels like screaming. 

He doesn’t but it’s only because it’s much higher than he imagined it to be and the wheel stopped and he wonders how long it would take for someone to help them if they got stuck there. And, for a moment, he’s paralyzed, shutting his eyes, clinging onto the safety bar as it will teleport him right back onto the ground. 

His mind eases when the wheel begins moving again. Minho flutters his eyes open, breath catching in his throat at the sight. It’s marvelous. City lights shimmer, moon is up high in the dark sky, soft amusement park music cuts through the silence ringing in his ears. 

Minho wishes he’s here with someone but at the same time, he’s glad he is alone. 

The last few days abounded in conflicting feelings—Minho wants to be left alone but the only thing he needs is to be held, misses Jisung yet doesn’t want to see him ever again; craves the feeling of breaking free but he’s so comfortable and secure in his little bubble. Minho is alright but he isn’t. 

His gaze lingers on the glimmering sky for a moment longer, even when he’s out of the component and next to his friends. Minho doesn’t know what he should do, what is right to do when your heart is broken but maybe he’ll figure it out along the way. 

But the ugly feeling that seems to be a mix of ten millions of different feelings he can’t name, right in the pit of his stomach, bubbling and hissing, resurfaces when they’re on their way back to Seoul. Minho posts five different pictures of him with Changbin and Seungmin having absolute fun without Jisung just because he still hasn’t unfollowed him on Instagram. And maybe he adds the picture with Jeongin for good measure, too. Because who can forbid him being driven by spite? 

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

With a go-to cup of coffee in hand, Minho settles in his usual seat in Oral Interpretation at three on a Monday afternoon. It’s only when someone asks if the seat next to him is taken that Minho realizes it  _ should _ be. 

His mouth hangs open without an answer. Shifting his gaze back and forth between the empty chair and the stranger, Minho can’t get a single word out. They must’ve had enough of waiting for a response that might not come—they blink at him, confused and back off, walking further to the front, leaving Minho to his own misery.

Jisung majors in Composition—he only enrolled in Oral Interpretation this year, saying he needs to perfect his performance, not only theatrically-wise but also musically. Minho cherishes this one class they share together; the hushed whispers and sneaking food, elbowing Jisung just to act like he didn’t do a thing, practicing together and always partnering—just a single glance to the side was always enough to confirm that they were in fact doing this and that together. 

To Minho, Jisung is heaven sent—cracking his shell with one look, complimenting him at any given chance, going over scripts with him even though he always has a load of his own work to do; so sweet and caring, always there, even if not physically. 

Always in the back of Minho’s mind. 

Even now, when he has no idea what to make of their current situation, when he’s conflicted and tired and so, so frustrated, Minho’s thoughts keep circling around Jisung, like he’s the centre of the Universe. 

_ Think _ of the devil and he’s sure to appear. 

Jisung strides into the room, iced coffee in hand, canvas bag slung over his shoulder just as Minho moves his gaze to the door. Black hair parted in the middle, faux eyebrow piercing, faded t-shirt tucked into skinny jeans. Minho hates the way his stomach flips. 

And the worst thing is, Jisung doesn’t even spare him a glance. He skips a few steps, rushing all the way down to the front of the lecture room like someone is chasing him. Greeting one of the students with a smile, he plops down on the chair next to them—so far away from his usual seat; so far away from Minho—and Minho can only stare at his back; can only swallow the bitter disappointment. 

Maybe Minho’s been hoping Jisung would change his mind throughout the weekend, would occupy his chair next to Minho and greet him with a smile, explaining that they have a lot to talk about. Maybe Minho just wanted to give Jisung a second chance.

Maybe Minho doesn’t want to let go just yet. 

But Jisung sits there, completely unaffected, all carefree and splendid and anger boils in the pit of Minho’s heart, so close to exploding. Minho is angry. Of course Minho is fucking angry.

If Jisung gave him a proper reason, an explanation, he wouldn’t be. However he left Minho like all the time they’ve spent together—dating aside—means nothing. Like Minho is nothing. 

It stings and it hurts and Minho would very much like the ground to swallow him whole. Right in this lecture hall, in front of everyone to enhance the utter embarrassment.

Minho slumps over the desk, hiding his face in his arms and hopes he doesn’t look as pathetic as he feels inside. 

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Immersed in copying notes from the Friday classes he missed sulking in bed, Minho sits by the coffee table, notebooks sprawled all around. With only a few more pages of History left to write down, Minho takes a break. He leans back, taking deep breaths with his eyes closed. 

He really needs sleep but also needs to take care of his classes and, frankly, classes are much more important. Minho will catch up on all the sleep he’s missing because of college when he dies. Or when he passes out. 

After stretching out his arms and neck, cracking fingers and taking another sip of coffee, Minho picks up the pencil again. He hears fumbling from the hall and, hoping it’s not a murderer, leans over the table to go back to his notes.

It’s most likely just Changbin coming back from an outing with his friends.  _ Their _ friends. Minho is very glad he could use studying as an excuse to not go. It’s not like he doesn’t want to meet up with everyone but, at the moment, any thought of Jisung has him drained and pissed off and Jisung would definitely be showing up. Besides, he really needs to get everything done before they move onto another topic in class, so he’s not exactly lying. 

Minho doesn’t lift his eyes from his tablet when Changbin strolls into the living area. He knows it’s Changbin for the sigh his friend heaves upon seeing him; it’s so common for him to nag at Minho for staying up so late that Minho got used to it. Disappointment laced with worry.

Changbin plops on the couch behind him without a single word. He looks over Minho’s shoulder, either interested in what's keeping him up so late or checking how much work he has left to do. 

“It’s past two,” he says, voice quiet to not disturb Seungkwan who’s most likely already sleeping.

Minho doesn’t look up, keeps his gaze fixed on the tablet, persistently writing down his notes. “I can’t sleep either way so I’m just using this time on something productive.” 

He knows Changbin wants to say something, wants to nag that it’s not being productive if his mind is elsewhere, that it’s more productive if he’s studying well rested, but he keeps his mouth shut and Minho is grateful. 

Just a few more pages left and Minho can go back to his room and lie in bed, staring at the ceiling for another night. 

His hand hovers over the screen when Changbin speaks up again. 

“Jisung asked about you,” he hesitates. 

Minho gulps, fluttering his eyes shut for a brief moment just to go back to scribbling like the Changbin’s words didn’t make his stomach flip. “I hope you told him I’m all good and dandy, then.” 

He doesn’t mean to sound so defensive but Jisung—Jisung has no right to ask his friends about him. If he wants to know so bad, he can talk to Minho himself; he can come up to him and can stop acting like Minho isn’t in the room every time they’re on rehearsals or buying coffee in the same shop for they both like it and Minho isn’t giving up  _ Verona _ just because Jisung left him. 

He doesn’t know if Jisung expects to hear “he’s doing alright” or “Minho is miserable without you” and boast that it’s his doing but either way, it shouldn’t concern him. He broke up with Minho and proceeded to ignore his entire existence—he can’t act like he cares now. His audacity makes Minho even angrier. 

Changbin breathes out a sigh and stands up, patting Minho’s head once or twice, like he’s a cat desperate for physical affection. (Minho is definitely not.) 

“Don’t stay up _ too _ late, alright?”

They both know he will, anyway. Minho appreciates Changbin’s concern and feels a little bad about worrying him so much but he’s an adult—he knows his limits, knows how to take care of himself, knows how to work things out on his own.

“Goodnight, Bin,” he says, finally looking up to meet his eyes. Sending Changbin a slight smile, he hopes it’s at least some assurance that he’ll be alright. 

Around four in the morning, after finishing with everything he needed to catch up on, Minho downs his mug of coffee and moves from the living area to his bedroom. Maybe it’s the three cups of coffee, maybe it’s his mind running miles a minute but, even when he crawls into his bed and bundles himself up in the duvet, he can’t fall asleep. 

It’s by no means a new occurrence yet not any less annoying. He’s tried everything to fix his sleeping schedule—even drinking warm milk despite hating it with passion—but it’s just that he doesn’t want to sleep most of the time.

Going to sleep means losing hours of the day, means time passing quicker, means waking up to new difficulties and to-do lists. He can sleep like a baby when he knows there’s nothing to worry about the next day but these days, there’s been a lot of things to worry about. 

Minho stares at the ceiling for most of the night, unmoving. Keeping his eyes wide open—because he read that it’s what actually helps falling asleep instead of shutting them—he tries to ease his mind into sweet nothingness.

It doesn’t work—of course it doesn’t—and frustrates him to the point Minho wants to scream. Taking deep breaths one by one, he tries to steady his heartbeat but just the sound of blood pumping in his ears is enough to drive him insane. 

Minho reaches for his phone and unplugs it from the charger. Defeated, he opens the Instagram app with a sigh. Maybe looking at the screen will tire him—at this point, Minho realizes there’s only one thing that could lull him to sleep. The only one he canʼt have. 

He scrolls through Facebook, through Twitter and even checks his mail but ends up on Instagram again. When the app refreshes, a new Story shows up on the top of the page and Minho rolls his eyes at the irony.

Of course Han fucking Jisung decides to post on his Stories at the break of dawn. He’s probably still out even though Changbin came back home not even two hours ago, running around the city and having fun. Without Minho. 

They used to do that—ditch everyone else to spend time on their own, crashing convenience stores at three in the morning, lying on wet grass in the park pretending they have an idea about the stars, sipping wine, walking around hand in hand just because everything seemed so easier and more serene at night. But now—now Minho is lying in his bed, tossing and turning.

Hesitant, he clicks Jisung’s profile, bracing himself for the possibility of seeing him with someone else. Someone, who maybe already replaced Minho—as a friend, as a boyfriend, as a nighttime companion. 

The only thing that shows up is a screenshot of him listening to something on Spotify. Minho doesn’t recognize the song but he does recognize the playlist. ‘ _ About you _ ’ is what Jisung randomly sent him one night, a long time ago with that stupid “Don’t look too much into it”, knowing well Minho would look too much into it. 

He spent the entire night listening to the mixtape and a few nexts, too. Days, weeks, months—enough to remember this song isn’t there. It’s unfamiliar and Minho hates the way he instantly exits Instagram just to check if there are more songs. More lyrics Minho can look too much into, like the sleep-deprived madman that he is. 

Jisung has a natural talent in every possible music-related thing. Even something as trivial as making playlists—so carefully crafted, thought through, significant no matter how much he tries to deny, to say that it’s just random songs he’s into these days. 

But Minho knows him; knows how sensitive he can get, how his heart is so full of care and appreciation, how Jisung spends his time to understand people. Minho never misses the glimmer in his eyes, the happy sparkle that appears always when Minho tells him he liked a cat video that Jisung sent him, that he can’t stop playing the song Jisung shared on Twitter, how he bought the book Jisung recommended him.

Hence Minho knows this particular song shared at the break of dawn is an important piece of Jisung that he needs to pick up and examine, even if his heart shakes and common sense begs not to. 

Around five or six, with Jisung’s playlist sounding through his earbuds, Minho is falling in and out of sleep, a strange state between dreams and reality. His heart is heavy in his chest for Minho can’t cease to look too much into things. Hope mingled with anger, he still can’t bring himself to put a stop to it all. He listens and listens, and when he opens his eyes again, the world is so much brighter.

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

On Friday, Changbin picks Minho up for lunch. Promised grilled meat in a restaurant off campus, Minho doesn’t even take a second to reply to his text with a “god, yes”. He sprints out of the lecture hall to meet Changbin by the door and his friend chuckles upon seeing him this animated.

“If I knew you’d get so lively, I would’ve taken you out for food sooner,” he comments.

Minho nudges him in the side, grin tugging on his lips. “It’s because I haven’t eaten anything yet. Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“Sure, sure. Just admit you’re happy to see me.” 

“We literally live in the same dorm. I see you  _ way _ too much.” 

Changbin clutches the palm of his hand to his chest in faux offence. The beam gives him away so it’s not that effective. Not that Minho doesn’t see through him; it’s painfully obvious Changbin is just trying his best to cheer Minho up. And maybe it’s working. 

Walking along the corridor, they have to squeeze through the crowds of students before they get to the elevator. Most of them just want to get out of the building, take advantage of the great weather, blue sky, the healing warmth of sun and the fresh air, so they take the stairs down instead of waiting for the elevator to arrive. 

Minho and Changbin, however, don’t have classes until afternoon, so the waiting doesn’t make them any difference. Even though the elevator is coming down from the top floor. Minho groans but doesn’t take a step towards the stairs. Instead, he takes his phone out of his pocket and, out of boredom, scrolls through social media so as not to waste time on it later. 

Only when the elevator stops with a  _ ding! _ , Minho tears his eyes away from the screen of his phone and looks up. Mistake. A big mistake. 

Life despises him and constantly puts obstacles in his way and Minho shouldn’t really be surprised when the doors slide open to reveal Jisung.

It’s the first time since seemingly forever that Jisung actually looks at him, acknowledges him and it feels wrong. Minho watches as his lips part, eyes widen, hand clutches the glittery notebook pressed into his chest like he didn’t expect to see Minho in the halls ever again, and decides he’s had enough. 

“I’ll take the stairs,” Minho breathes out, voice strained.

Without another glance into the elevator—at Jisung—he turns on his heel, breath catching in his throat as Changbin calls out after him. 

“Min, wait!” 

But Minho doesn’t wait where Jisung can see the effect he still has on him; where he can see the hurt flit across his face. He turns the corner and presses his back to the cold wall, squeezing his eyes shut. 

And maybe his senses are overwhelmed, maybe Minho is just going insane but he swears he can hear Jisung mumbling, “Fine. This is perfectly fucking fine,” before the elevator doors close again.

Changbin’s hand lands on his shoulder, snapping him back to reality. Minho wishes there to be anything on his face—anything other than pity—and when he opens his eyes, head thrown back on the wall, Changbin’s eyes are understanding. Worried. 

“I really think you two should talk,” he says and presses his lips together into a thin line. 

Minho knows that all this time Changbin tried not to interfere; did his best to not pry and make Minho do things he didn’t want to do, but if now he has decided to finally speak, Minho really needs to think it through. 

He’s angry and he’s hurt and so, so confused. And maybe talking to the reason for all those mixed feelings helps him figure things out. Or let go. 

**▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃**

Minho misses Jisung. It shows in the way he comes across a funny cat video and his first instinct is to forward it to Jisung; in the way he’s so used to ordering two coffees and the way he can’t sit by any other table in  _ Verona  _ than the one by the window looking out to the street; in the way absolutely most random things remind him of Jisung—script lines, broken chairs, vending machines and the sun. 

Minho doesn’t even see Jisung much during the rehearsals, only when he’s on stage and they don’t get assigned to cleaning duty together either. He doesn’t know if Jisung is hiding from him now but it definitely looks just like that. 

And no matter how much Minho would like to forget, no matter how much he’d like to pretend Jisung doesn’t exist and doesn’t occupy his mind most of the time, he can’t. 

And nights are particularly bad even though it’s not unusual that Minho just can’t sleep, that his body is tired but his mind is running miles a minute. Usually Jisung would always be there for him, finishing up his assignments or binging another episode of some crime TV show he was really into these days, keeping Minho company throughout the night until they both decided it’s time to finally get some sleep. And, like magic, Minho always drifted off immediately after hanging up. 

But it’s not like Minho can call him now, can he?

Hence he slips out of his bed, strolls into the kitchen just to grab a bottle of wine from the cupboard and, slipping into a jacket, goes out of the dorm building to the campus park, accepting dark night’s embrace with open arms. 

It’s been a week since Jisung broke up with him and it doesn’t get any better.

Walking along the park path illuminated by the golden light of the streetlights, Minho takes a sip of sweet wine from the bottle again and again. He doesn’t even care that he definitely shouldn’t be drinking on campus—Minho just needs some fresh air and a little alcohol. 

The night air, though it's the beginning of summer, still pierces his bones, unpleasant. Minho takes a deep breath and straggles toward the bench, hoping the enormous oak right behind it will shield him from the wind. 

Minho pulls his knees close to his chest; setting the bottle aside, he wraps arms around himself and sits in silence. 

He hates that even this whole place reminds him of Jisung—as if his dorm, the university buildings, coffee shops and city streets aren’t enough. Minho hates that the angry tears just won’t stop falling as he picks up the bottle again and takes a huge sip. 

Minho doesn’t cry when he’s sad. And now he definitely isn’t, either. He’s upset and angry and frustrated because Jisung left him without any explanations and Minho is too much of a polite heart to harass him into spilling his reasons. 

If Jisung wanted to cut ties with him, be his fucking guest. (Minho cries.)

A harsh sob rips out of Minho’s throat, slips past his wine red lips, echoing through the quiet campus park. There’s probably someone running or having a walk or stargazing but Minho doesn't really care. He just wants to cry in peace. 

It’s alright, he tells himself. Crying is good. Crying is cleansing and healing and he hasn’t cried about Jisung yet. Maybe it will help. 

Minho squeezes his eyes shut to stop the tears from falling like waterfalls down his cheeks. He throws his head back, the edge of the bench digging uncomfortably into the nape of his neck, and does everything he can just to not break down. 

Hell, he’s gone through stage frights, exams with low scores, losing his cat, fights with friends and high school heartbreaks and he turned out okay. Minho will be fine, of course he will be fucking fine. Losing a friend—losing Jisung—is not the end of the world. 

Minho freezes upon hearing murmurs, grass crackling under someone’s feet but he doesn’t move. Not even when he feels another body on the other side of the bench. And maybe sitting in the park at an ungodly hour is what will get Minho killed.

Does he care? No. He doesn’t. Ground swallow him whole—split, so that the hellish demons can take his soul.

No, of course Minho doesn’t want to die. A notebook with at least one thousand points under a bright headline “bucket list” is still somewhere in the depths of his drawers, most of the goals not even close to being completed. Minho can’t die now when he’s got a whole show ahead of him and he’s been working too hard to just miss it. Hell, he’d even come back from the dead to star in that motherfucking production. 

But his mind is hazy and it’s been days since he’s had a coherent thought other than Jisung, Jisung, Jisung and, as a theatre student, Minho has a flair for the dramatic. 

(It’s exactly how he and Jisung met, maybe two years back now, main roles in a play even though Jisung wasn’t a theatre student. But Jisung is charming, out-standing in every single thing he picks up and, when he came to accompany his friend to the auditions, he almost lost his shit because of a guy who just couldn’t deliver an emotional performance “that Macbeth deserved”—he recited the lines as if he’d been studying them over and over but turns out, Jisung was just a nerd that liked  _ Macbeth _ more than being nice and polite.)

Minho finally brings himself to snap his eyes open and, considering everything that’s happened throughout last week, he shouldn’t be surprised.

Jisung sits there on the other side of the bench, respectable distance in between them; so close, yet so far. He doesn’t look at Minho; hunched forward, with elbows resting on his knees, his eyes are fixed on the ground. 

But he’s there. He’s right  _ here _ . And Minho can recognize his stupid face even in the dark, in the dimmed streetlights, head dizzy. 

It feels like they’re the only two people left in the world. Minho doesn’t know if he can take it.

Staring at Jisung is enough to sober him up. Minho takes another sip from the bottle.

Jisung doesn’t even move, like he’s just a ghost out of Minho’s imagination, a drunken delusion that will fade once he blinks. Tears brim in his eyes, making him feel like a child. 

“Why are you here?” he asks, voice strained. 

Jisung leans back on the bench but he’s still avoiding Minho’s gaze. Good. Maybe Minho doesn’t want to look at him, either. (He can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away.)

“No reason.” 

Disappointment coils heavy in Minho’s stomach. He feels sick like he might throw up but nothing other than his heart jumps up to his throat—like it wants to break free, leap out of his chest to find the person it truly belongs to and settle comfortably in their hands. Stupid, treacherous heart. 

“Same as to why you dumped me?” Minho scoffs. 

Jisung remains quiet for a long moment; Minho starts to think he might never actually speak to him again—stubborn, so adamant about something that Minho doesn’t understand. 

But then he just hums like it’s an answer and Minho really, really wants to leave. Something holds him in place, though and it’s probably all the suppressed anger that Minho didn’t want to unleash at anyone.

With his heart hammering, head spinning—either from the wine or Jisung being so close to him—Minho splutters, “You could come up with a lie. You could tell the fucking truth because you’re such a terrible liar. I just— I can’t— I don’t understand. Why did you do it? Why— Why are you doing this now? Just—” 

“—Because I like you too much,” Jisung interrupts. 

Maybe Minho really shouldn’t be drinking. Maybe he should quit even recreationally because it’s messing with his brain and now he’s hearing things and can’t even process what’s real and what’s not. 

“What the fuck?” 

Jisung looks up for the first time tonight. Their eyes finally meet and Minho notices how different Jisung looks. How out of nowhere next to him sits just a weary, vulnerable man and not the Jisung he’s so used to seeing. 

His eyes glimmer just the same, though. Streetlights turn the brown shade soft, long eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks. He heaves a sigh and shakes his head like it’s painful for him to speak up, like he can’t bring himself to elaborate and ease Minho’s confusion. 

“Everyone I’ve dated before—I just found them alright. I had fun with them and always thought, ‘Yeah, I don’t mind being with them,’ and somehow it was always enough. But with you—” Jisung exhales. Glistening eyes, he seems to be looking straight into Minho’s soul. “I can’t even stand the thought of being away from you.” 

Minho’s breath catches in his throat. He opens his mouth to ask what the fuck Jisung means by that but the only thing that leaves it is a hushed, “Jisung—” before he’s interrupted. 

“I was always dating people because I wanted so desperately to feel love, to know how it was to love and be loved in return and... and, once I finally did, I just... ran.”

What the fuck. 

Minho doesn’t know what to say. His mouth turns dry, and despite a thousand thoughts rushing through his head, he can’t come up with any sensible answer. 

What Jisung is saying—what Jisung is implying—doesn’t make any sense in Minho’s head. If he’s in love with Minho, why would he break up with him? 

“Why? Why, Jisung?” 

He’s fiddling with his fingers, running them up his wrist to twist the charm of his silver bracelet and then slotting both his hands together. They’re trembling. 

“I’m just… scared. I’m scared.” 

Minho’s words sound choked when he breathes, “Of what? I would never pressure you into anything.”

Jisung shakes his head, eyes wide. He reaches out to grab Minho’s hand before freezing and dropping it to let it fall back onto Minho’s lap and taking it again. No matter how confused and mad Minho is, Jisung is just always so endearing. And it's only when Minho laces their fingers together that he seems to relax. 

“What are you scared of?” Minho asks, trying to make his voice sound more stable, more inviting, more gentle.

Jisung lets out a shaky breath, tongue poking the inner side of his cheek. “As if it’s so easy to say.”

“It’s just me. Just you and me.”

It’s stupid and irresponsible for Minho to fall right back into him. Yet, when Jisung’s eyes meet his again, he can feel all the butterflies in the world swarming his stomach and thinks it’s so, so easy to give your heart away, even into the hands of a person who’s already damaged it. 

“It’s just—I’m scared I’ll fuck things up and you’ll leave and hate me.”

Minho can’t help himself. “No offense but it’s kinda what happened.”

Jisung grimaces. He slides his tongue on the underside of his teeth, thinking about the right words to say. 

“I don’t want to end up heartbroken or I don’t want you to end up heartbroken but I just— I know it’s inevitable because… people hurt people and honestly I’d rather eat fucking raisins than see you hurt. I thought it would save us trouble to… break things off before it gets… yeah.” 

Minho’s eyes soften and he shakes his head, feeling a gentle smile tugging on the corner of his lips. Jisung absolutely fucking hates raisins—he once ate them in a salad and puked his entire stomachl out because he’s just a baby. And it’s stupid that it makes Minho’s heart grow two sizes too big in his chest.

“People hurt people,” he repeats, thumb caressing Jisung’s knuckles to have him loosen up a little. “But people  _ need _ people and if you keep running like this, you’ll go insane sooner or later. You aren’t supposed to be alone, Jisung. People aren’t meant to be alone.” 

Minho’s eyes catch it trembling before Jisung chews on his lower lip. He has never seen Jisung this nervous and it’s not really a sight to behold. 

“I’m so sorry for hurting you, Minho,” Jisung breathes and scoots over to Minho.

Their thighs are squeezed together, fingers slotted in an iron grip, eyes fixed on each other, yet it’s not enough; Jisung rests his head on Minho’s shoulder and where he touches him, warmth spreads, blooms until it reaches the tips of his fingers and sets his body on fire. Sparks are flying. 

“I’m sorry for being such a douche. You didn’t deserve any of that.” 

Minho nods and lets his cheek fall against the crown of Jisung’s head. “I didn’t. So thank you for your apology.” 

Jisung lets out another shuddering breath. He squeezes Minho’s hand once, twice, maybe five times before he speaks. “I—I don’t know if you still… want me but I do. I want to be with you.” 

It would be so easy to jump back where they left off a week ago but Minho is an adult and maybe he’s been hurting for the past days but he’s grown, too. 

“Of course I want to be with you. I’m all in for helping you settle in a serious relationship but… I can’t do that if you don’t put an effort too,” he says. Jisung is quick to open his mouth but Minho cuts him off. “We can take it slow, we can try to fix what was broken but I just need you to be sure you can do it. I need to be sure that this is exactly what you want.” 

Jisung remains silent but Minho knows he’s just thinking. With his thumb subconsciously rubbing Minho’s knuckles, he’s staring at the ground and—just by looking at him—Minho feels like he might burst. 

“I like you, Jisung, of course I like you. More than I thought I would, but... I’m not going to step into something that is destined to fall apart. I don’t think I’ve got the strength for that.” 

Lifting his head off Minho’s shoulder, Jisung turns to face him. With a determined expression on his face, he stares at him for a moment, and, in the dim streetlight haze, he looks even softer than usual. A shadow of uncertainty flies across his face, but Minho doesn’t mind it at all—he’s not surprised at all—because his face is lit up by a smile a second later.

“I want to be with you. I really, really do,” he says, voice quieter than ever yet it feels like he’s screaming on top of his lungs; it’s for Minho’s ears only. “I promise that I won’t run.” 

Minho’s heart crashes against his ribcage in one heavy beat before picking up and hammering, hammering, and hammering—so loud that he hears blood pumping in his ears; so loud that he’s sure Jisung can hear it, too.

He breaks out in a soft laugh, relief washing over him like summer rain. Minho brings Jisung’s hand to his mouth—still joined with his like they’re glued together—to press a delicate kiss on the back of it. 

“Alright,” he breathes, “let’s do it.” 

The world is spinning but Jisung grounds him. He’s an anchor, keeping Minho’s mind steady and in place. It’s crazy how all it took was just a conversation and Minho’s thoughts are already taking their designated places in the shelves of his mind.

They’ve dated before, they’ve been friends for even longer yet today—on this Friday night—it seems to be a new beginning. Minho wants the flowers to bloom and wants to watch them bloom with Jisung but there’s so much things they need to do before they can even plant the seeds. 

“We’ll work it out together,” Minho tells him; Jisung beams, smiles brighter than the Sun and lights up Minho’s world like ten thousand fireworks. 

Minho is gone. He’s so gone for this boy. 

His heart does this thing again—thumps heavier before settling back to a steady, yet just as loud pace—as he leans in, nuzzling Jisung’s nose. Breath hot on Minho’s lips, Jisung doesn’t tear his gaze away from him; he keeps looking into Minho’s soul through his eyes, so stubborn and fixed on getting to all of him. 

“Kiss me,” Minho mumbles, not caring in the slightest about how whiny he sounds. “Please, kiss me.” 

“Not now. You’ve drunk.” 

Jisung is reasonable and respectful and his gaze is so, so fond, but Minho rolls his eyes because he just wants a damn kiss right on the mouth. 

“Would I speak such clever things if I was drunk? All I’ve said tonight was so, so clever.” 

Jisung lets out a chuckle. “Yes, baby. You tend to get pretty philosophical when you’re wasted. That or you get all petulant.”

Minho is so weak. It should be embarrassing to melt upon hearing such a simple petname but he doesn’t care about being embarrassed. It’s Jisung; it’s  _ his _ Jisung and Minho can be soft for him and with him all he wants. 

“I just had a couple sips. I’m not wasted,” he whines, hoping Jisung will eventually break but only proves his point. “And I missed you so much.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. Minho feels like he might win this; he flutters his eyelashes, pushing his face further into Jisung’s but it only makes Jisung laugh.

“I know and I missed you too but you gotta stop pouting like this. I won’t be able to resist you.” 

“Pretty please?”

Jisung leans back. “No,” he says; his voice sounds soft. It’s always so soft with Minho. “You’ll get your kisses tomorrow.”

Minho thinks he might know what this is all about. Jisung not wanting to kiss him because he drank is one thing but there’s something else. Something coiled, concealed, locked out of sight but when Minho looks into Jisung’s eyes, it’s so evident. It’s worry. 

“Jisung, it’s not the drunk me speaking. I’m not going to change my mind about us tomorrow,” he mutters, cupping the side of Jisung’s face with his hand. “Just—Just kiss me. Please.”

Minho knows him too well; knows his tells and knows that Jisung is trying very hard to endure his whining and not give in. But, Minho knows him so well that he can see the sudden flash in his eyes before Jisung nods.

“Just one kiss, okay?” 

Minho feels like a kid that got promised a sweet treat and when he slides his hand to the nape of Jisung’s neck to bring him closer and join their lips together, it’s exactly like that—sweet, so sweet. 

Jisung’s lips are perfect against his own, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. The feeling is familiar, cozy, domestic yet Minho finds himself shuddering at the touch. The warmth emanating from Jisung’s body draws him closer; Minho wants to curl into him, stay close with their bodies pressed together forever. 

Minho is lovestruck. 

He’s drunk on the feeling of Jisung’s hands roaming over his body, of his lips moving against his own, of Jisung being so, so close and not even considering going anywhere. 

Or he is. Jisung pulls away, putting their kiss to an end and Minho chases him like his lips are the only thing keeping him alive.

“Hey, easy there, baby,” Jisung chuckles, a little breathy. “Just one kiss, remember?” 

Minho rolls his eyes at him yet he knows that he doesn’t even look anything close to annoyed—with a smile this big, with a smile this soft, there’s no way he could act indifferent. He can step into roles and act on stage like the lives of all these characters are his own, but when he’s next to Jisung his performance collapses. Minho can’t pretend to him. Minho can’t put on an act in front of him. 

“It’s late. Feeling sleepy?” 

Minho murmurs into Jisung’s lips before stealing a short, chaste kiss from him. Jisung pushes him away, chuckling and stands up from the bench. The cracks of his joints echo through the otherwise silent park and Minho shouldn’t be this endeared by the embarrassed face he pulls. 

He plays it cool and extends a hand towards Minho. “Let’s get you back to bed, hmm? We can talk more tomorrow. Come on.” 

Minho lets Jisung to pull him up, then brushes invisible dust off his black sweatpants. He takes the half-empty wine bottle into one of his hands and slots the fingers of the other’s with Jisung’s. 

The park is even more quiet now but this time, with Jisung by his side, it’s serene. Comfortable, even. Jisung begins humming a tune as they stride toward Minho’s dorm building and Minho wonders if it’s a new song he’s working on. He hasn’t heard the melody before. 

It goes quiet suddenly, before Minho can even focus on remembering it. He didn’t want to speak before for not interrupting him but now that he’s not humming, Minho starts, “Uh, Jisung?” 

“What’s up?” 

“I just—I don’t understand why you broke up with me that day. I mean… everything was fine, right? It’s just… bugging me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees the way Jisung clasps his mouth shut. For a split second, he’s worried it was a wrong thing to ask but then Jisung turns to face him with a shy smile.

“You bought my favorite choco milk and mango ice-cream,” he says. Minho only grows more confused; he looks at Jisung with furrowed brows. “Don’t laugh at me but—erm—I just realized I’m in love with you that very moment when you said you bought Hershey’s just because it’s  _ my  _ favorite brand.” 

Minho snorts and breaks out in a wide smile. “Oh my God, this is the sweetest thing in the entire world.” Sweeping strands of hair falling into his eyes with the back oh his hand, he adds, “Instead of doing stupid shit like this, you should’ve just talked to me.” 

“I know. I just… panicked. Hell, I’ll forever feel awful about it.”

Minho nudges him in the side. “You apologized and I accepted and we’ll work through it. Don’t worry, alright?” 

Jisung sighs and nods, reluctant. Minho squeezes his hand to give him some assurance. They  _ will _ work through it—they just need to get better at communication.

“Plus...” Minho drags out as they stop by his dorm building, “I know some ways you can make up for last week to me.”

“Oh, you do?” 

Jisung’s grin matches his own when he loops his arms over Minho’s neck. This man really needs to make up his mind, Minho thinks—not so long ago he wanted just a single kiss! (Minho doesn’t mind Jisung’s change of heart but he just really feels like playing with him.) 

Jisung flutters his eyes closed, melting right where Minho’s hand is resting above his hip. Minho watches him for a long moment—takes in his ethereal beauty that has an equivalent in his personality. Jisung is breathtaking. 

He’s getting impatient, too—his eyelid twitches as Minho doesn’t immediately join lips together, but doesn’t open his eyes, waiting. Minho suppresses a chuckle; teasing Jisung is more fun than it really should be. 

Standing on tiptoe—fuck their similar height!—Minho presses his lips to Jisung’s forehead, the feeling of his burning mouth on Jisung’s cold skin eliciting a shudder running through his body. 

Jisung smiles, clearly not disappointed. Minho meets his eyes—those sparkling, warm eyes—and feels like his knees might give out. He lets Jisung join their foreheads together, lets him stare right into Minho’s soul. 

“Just one kiss this time,” he says when Jisung leans in to snatch a kiss on the lips, “and if you’re patient enough—millions in the future.”

Jisung tries so hard to bite back the smile but fails miserably. “Can we make it a million tomorrow?” 

“Alright. Pick me up in the morning so we can start early.”

Nodding, Jisung pulls away, detaching his arms from around Minho’s neck. He begins walking away still facing Minho, like he can’t bring himself to stop looking at him. 

When he’s already a few meters away, he calls out, “Hey! What if we lose count?”

Minho grins, shaking his head in amusement. “We’ll start again.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you very very much for reading! if you're interested in more fluffy minsung, please check out my profile or wait until february for a big chunk of minsung bickering i'll be posting!! 
> 
> stay safe and take care!!  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated ♡
> 
> my main twitter  
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